Two Hearts
by Stoneheart1
Summary: The Story of a Boy who Lived, and died; and of a girl who "died" and learned to live again. It is also the story of two broken hearts that found the strength to heal themselves...and each other. H/Hr>Hr/R
1. Garden Of Heroes

Introduction:  
There seems to be a misconception on FF.N that H/H shippers hate Ron. I can't speak for others, but I certainly don't. While I DO subscribe to the notion that Ron is forever destined to play second fiddle to Harry-Artful dodger to Harry's Oliver, if you will-I believe, overall, that he is a decent bloke (or will be once he's matured a bit).  
  
And while I firmly believe that Harry and Hermione are the perfect couple, that does not preclude Hermione having feelings for Ron. Those feelings are simply overwhelmed by her stronger feelings for Harry.  
  
Ah, but what if Harry were no longer in the picture? Whither Ron and Hermione then?  
  
The following story does not change the writer's ship. Say, rather, that it shows Ron in his true light: A good man who, victim of circumstances beyond his control, finds himself relegated to the shadows while the spotlight falls on another-and who, when that light is forever extinguished, steps forth from the shadows and into a light all his own.  
  
A/N: This story does not take place in the AU of Patronus and Key To My Heart. (Ahhgh! Cheap plug!). This is a stand-alone piece. I hope some of you, at least, enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
Onward…  
  
  


***

  
  
  
Chapter One:  
  
Garden Of Heroes  
  
November, 1999  
  
  
The tall young man stood motionless at the gravesite, the cold, damp ground sending a chill through his body which was exceeded only by the one clutching his heart.  
  
A sharp wind sprang up, tossing his red hair about. A light rain began to fall.  
  
The stone before which the man stood was graven with letters at which he stared with unwinking eyes:  
  
  


HARRY JAMES POTTER

  
  


Son of James and Lily

  
  


Husband of Hermione

  
  


Father of Jaime

  
  


Friend to Many

  
  


Loved by All

  
  


He Died That The World Might Live

  
  


July 31, 1980 - October 31, 1999

  
  
  
The rain fell harder, plastering the man's hair to his forehead. Yet he made no move to pull up the hood of his cloak. His wand remained in his robes, which were now clinging wetly to his spare frame.  
  
Then, with the suddenness of a puppet having its strings cut, the man fell to his knees on the sodden earth; his hands clutched the stone marker as great trembling sobs wracked his body.  
  
All this was witnessed by a young woman who stood at the entrance to the cemetery, her eyes clouded with fathomless sorrow.  
  
She was dressed in traditional mourning garb. She wore a black cloak upon which a spider-web pattern was etched in silver. The veil masking her face was of black silk, similarly woven into a web. She held her wand up beside her, its tip casting a water-repelling barrier over her. The dampness on her face was unrelated to the weather.  
  
Though the cold rain did not touch her, yet she felt a chill that made her tremble.  
  
"Oh, Ron," she whispered tremulously. "Dear, sweet Ron."  
  
She walked over to the grave, knelt beside her friend. Ron fell into her arms, sobbing desolately.  
  
"Oh, Hermi," he shuddered, his voice a rasping croak, "Hermi -- what are we going to do without him?"  
  
At these words, Hermione's tears began to flow copiously past the dam of her rice-paper facade.  
  
Ever the proper witch, Hermione disdained nicknames of any sort. Only two people in the world had she ever permitted to address her in this manner. One was the man she now held in her arms, their tears falling in concert with the November rain.  
  
The other was the man on whose grave they unashamedly wept.  
  
  
**To Be Continued...****  
**


	2. Starting Over

**Author's Note:** It is written: It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness. Likewise, it is better to express gratitude for those who reviewed than acrimony toward those who did not. Thus:  
  
Thanks to **Omega, Sarah Love, Dianne and Chailyn Kenzie.** I hope you're still around when the last chapter is posted (and I hope you have LOTS of company!).  
  
Enjoy and Review!  
  
  


***

  
  
Chapter Two:  
  
Starting Over  
  
  
"More tea, Ron?"  
  
Hermione was just emerging from the kitchen with a tray of scones. She was wearing tasteful robes of deep navy, her mourning garb now hanging in the bedroom closet.  
  
Ron drained his cup, sighing as the warmth coursed through him.  
  
"Bless you," he smiled up at her.  
  
Hermione touched the teapot with her wand; it blew off a blast of steam, rising thereafter to refill Ron's cup. Fresh tea leaves had already replaced the sodden remains in his enchanted cup. He smiled at this, ever impressed with her cleverness. He took a cautionary sip. When he lifted is head, he saw Hermione, now seated before him on a short couch, proffering a buttered scone. He took it gratefully and bit into it as Hermione buttered one for herself.  
  
Ron was sitting in an armchair in the parlor of what had been Harry's and Hermione's flat. She used it but little now, spending most of her time at her parents' house, where they could better help her care for little Jaime.  
  
Ron had exchanged his drenched robes for one of Harry's bathrobes, which was too short by inches for his lanky frame. Much of his legs showed below the hem, and Hermione politely averted her eyes from the numerous tiny scars and marks thus revealed.  
  
"So," Hermione began awkwardly, sipping her tea, "how's the family? Everyone okay?"  
  
Ron nodded, grunting affirmation through a mouthful of scone.  
  
"Dad got promoted," he said when he could articulate.  
  
"Really?" Hermione said, looking interested. In fact, she had already got the news from Ginny, but she let Ron go on, not wanting to spoil his "good news".  
  
"He's in charge of Muggle Affairs. Anything and everything having to do with Muggles passes over his desk. Lots of responsibility. Big raise, too."  
  
"Wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed.  
  
"First thing they did," Ron said through another mouthful of scone, "was hire an exterminator. Chucked the ghoul out of the attic. 'Bout time! Bloody awful, the row he made."  
  
"So," Hermione said coyly, "who got your dad's old job? You know, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?" She knew the answer, of course.  
  
"You're lookin' at him!" Ron beamed. "Supervised at first, of course. But I learned from the best, didn't I?"  
  
"Oh, I'm so happy for you, Ron!"  
  
The conversation lapsed, and Ron said cautiously, "Your mum and dad still helping with Jaime?"  
  
Hermione lowered her eyes, said, "Yes," very softly before nibbling at her scone.  
  
Ron was instantly suspicious.  
  
"There's something you're not telling me," he said, reading her expression with the familiarity of long association.  
  
Hermione did not answer at first. Ron said nothing, waiting patiently for her to speak.  
  
"Mum hasn't been well lately," she admitted at last. "The strain of...everything." She paused, her upper lip quivering slightly. "They -- they won't be able to take Jaime any more. I...suppose I'll be moving back here full time. I've still a bit of savings left...I'll just cut short my leave -- "  
  
"Not a bit of it," Ron said firmly, some of his old fire returning. "You're coming to stay at the Burrow!"  
  
"Oh...Ron..." Hermione began slowly, setting her cup down clumsily, "...no...I couldn't...impose -- "  
  
"Impose!" Ron said with disbelief. "Hermione, you're _family_! My mum'd have my guts for garters if I didn't bring you home straightway. She'll love having Jaime in the house. And now that the ghoul's got the sack, there'll be nothing to wake her up in the middle of the night -- well, three o'clock feedings notwithstanding.  
  
"As for this place -- " Ron stood up, looking around grandly, " -- I think it's just what I've been looking for! I've got a good salary now. Right! I'll move in next week, take over the lease and everything. Fred and George can help - do 'em good to do a bit of work for a change."  
  
Hermione sat quietly in her seat, her head bowed. Ron sat down beside her.  
  
"Hermione," he said earnestly, "Mum and Dad loved Harry like a son. He was like a brother to me. And you -- "  
  
He paused, swallowed.  
  
"You're coming, and that's that."  
  
At first Hermione did not move. Then her head fell onto Ron's shoulder and, very softly, she began to cry.  
  
"Thank you, Ron."  
  
Ron put his arm around Hermione's shoulder and held her for a long time.  
  
  
**To Be Continued...**

***

  
  
Note From Fae Princess: Because FF.net was down for so long Stoneheart and I decided to re-post the chapters we put up just before the site went down. We want some response to the recent postings, so you just GOTTA leave a review. Please? Thanks a lot guys! See ya soon :) ~Love, Fae  



	3. Beginnings

Chapter Three:  
  
Beginnings  
  
August, 1997  
  
  
"You're joking!"  
  
Harry froze, staring at Ron in amazement as the gnome in his hand struggled to escape.  
  
"You CAN'T!"  
  
"I can, you know," was all Ron said. The expression he wore was so calmly serious that Harry thought for a moment that he was looking at Percy.  
  
"Leave Hogwarts? But -- OW!"  
  
Harry shook his throbbing hand as he stared at the marks made by the forgotten gnome's needle-sharp teeth.  
  
Furious, Harry used his undamaged hand to fling the gnome over the back hedge and out of sight.  
  
"Bravo, Harry!" Ron exclaimed as he watched the gnome disappear. "And one-handed, too! Bet I can beat it! Let me -- "  
  
"BUGGER THE SODDING GNOMES!" Harry shouted. "YOU CAN'T LEAVE HOGWARTS!"  
  
"I already have," Ron said with quiet finality. "Fixed it with Dumbledore yesterday."  
  
"But -- why? Why now? You've only got a year to go!"  
  
"Exactly," Ron said, catching a gnome and giving it a mighty heave. He nodded with satisfaction as the tiny creature vanished from view. He turned slowly and faced Harry.  
  
"I've been at Hogwarts six years now, and I don't have any more idea what I want to do with my life than I did they day we first met at King's Cross.  
  
"So I'm taking what's known as a matriculating sabbatical. I'm going to Romania to work with Charlie, and I'll get credits that will count when I go back for Seventh Year. I'll need them -- I'm not exactly the best student, you'll admit."  
  
Harry looked stunned. He'd known something was up when Ron suggested they go out after lunch and de-gnome the garden -- it was one of his least favorite chores. It had obviously been a ruse to get them out of the house so Ron could talk to him privately. Harry had noticed Ron looking apprehensive for days, so he knew it must be something serious.  
  
But THIS?  
  
Thinking quickly, Harry dug into his mind for counter-arguments, snatching at least a dozen from his thoughts like so many Golden Snitches.  
  
But he made no attempt to use them.  
  
He looked at Ron, his best friend for the last six years, the closest thing to a brother he would ever have. And it was as if he was seeing him for the first time.  
  
Gone was the skinny eleven-year-old with the silly grin and eyes twinkling mischievously at the prospect of some deviltry or grand adventure. In his place stood a tall seventeen-year-old; the red hair and freckles remained, but the still-boyish face was serene, the mouth strong and set, the blue eyes clear.  
  
"So," was all Harry could say, "you'll be graduating with Ginny, then?"  
  
"Yeah. I think that's one reason Mum and Dad agreed. They still worry about her -- only girl, youngest, you know. And after her first year, well..."  
  
Harry would never forget Ginny's first year at Hogwarts, his and Ron's second. The Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle -- Ginny had nearly died.  
  
"So," Ron continued, "this way, you and Hermione can look after her while _I'm_ gone, then _I'll_ be there for her when _you're_ gone. Perfect."  
  
"Speaking of Hermione," Harry said, studying Ron carefully, "you'll be back for the wedding, right?"  
  
"If a dragon doesn't roast me," Ron grinned weakly.  
  
"I'm serious," Harry said sternly. "You're Best Man. You've got to be there. Promise me! Promise, or by Merlin, I'll stuff you down a gnome hole and hold you there until they bite your ears off!"  
  
"I promise!" Ron said, throwing up his hands as the shadow of a smile flickered across his face.  
  
"Right, then." Harry relaxed.  
  
"Hagrid's coming with me," Ron added, almost as an afterthought. "You know he's been traveling the continent the last two Summers, looking for his people. Well, I thought he might try Romania this year, and Dumbledore agreed. Charlie's looking forward to it. He and Hagrid are great mates. Who do you think got him on this dragon kick in the first place? And as for Hagrid, it's like a second Christmas for him. Told him we might even find Norbert."  
  
"He'd love that," Harry said, smiling in spite of himself.  
  
"So, you want to finish the de-gnoming?"  
  
"Nah," Ron said. "I hate de-gnoming!"  
  
And the two friends exchanged knowing smiles.  
  
  
**To Be Continued...**   
  


*~*

  
  
**Note from Fae Princess:** Mwahaha..._I've_ had the lucky privelege of reading the whole story already...so I already know what's going to happen, I know the ending, I even know what colour Harry's underpants are in the story! *ahem* My apologies to Stoneheart for not posting when I said I would...I already explained to him what happened, and I feel _so_ bad. But I'm posting now...so at least it's getting done, right? Which means you _must_ leave a review for him! He really deserves it, you know.   
  
Have fun, soaking in the sun! *smooches* ~Fae 


	4. Scars

Chapter Four:  
  
Scars  
  
August, 1998  
  
  
"Hold him, Hagrid!" the man barked. "Hold him!  
  
"Wands out, lads!"  
  
"No!" Hagrid gritted, the tendons on his thick neck straining under his shaggy beard. "I got 'im! Jus' -- le' me -- "  
  
With a great heave of his massive shoulders, Hagrid dropped the loop of the heavy chain over a squat stone pillar set deep in the rocky ground. A wizard at his side quickly thrust an iron bar through a hole, and as Hagrid released the chain it snapped taut, straining against the crossbar in vain.  
  
A terrible scream rent the air as the dragon at the other end of the chain raged, flailing its tail and sending smoke and flame from its nostrils.  
  
"Tha's that!" Hagrid heaved a weary sigh, mopping his brow with a handkerchief the size of a wizard's cloak.  
  
Few things there were that could test the full mettle of the burly half-giant, but a mother dragon protecting her clutch of eggs was one of them.  
  
As he sat down on a huge boulder, watching the wizards weighing and measuring the eggs, the foreman who had been supervising from above glided down on his broomstick and lighted at his side.  
  
"Hi 'yeh, Erik," Hagrid smiled. "End 'a yer shift?"  
  
Erik nodded, shouldering his broom.  
  
Hagrid had formed a fast friendship with Erik Sigurdson, a wizard from Norway. Erik it was who had been given charge of Norbert, Hagrid's beloved baby dragon, more than six years ago. Erik had given Hagrid some moving photos of the now fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback, which was now back in the fjords of its native Norway. Hagrid had fallen into tears upon receiving the photos, and he treasured them as he did few things in his simple life.  
  
"Fancy a tankard 'a mead, Erik?" Hagrid offered, pocketing his massive handkerchief. "I know I coul' do wi' one meself, an' tha's the truth."  
  
"Thanks, Hagrid," Erik smiled politely, "but I'm off to the infirmary."  
  
"Are yeh hurt?" Hagrid asked with genuine concern. He saw no mark on the blond wizard.  
  
Erik shook his head.  
  
"Ron."  
  
"Ron?" Hagrid's face paled.  
  
"Charlie's there now. I'm Apparating over as soon as I check out. You didn't know -- here, take my broomstick -- "  
  
Erik, like all the others, knew that Hagrid was not a proper wizard and could not Apparate.  
  
Hagrid looked despairingly at the tiny twig in Erik's hand.  
  
"Yeh woul'nt happen teh have a portkey, would yeh?"  
  
"I'll enchant one for you straight off," Erik said.  
  
Hagrid nodded his thanks.  
  
  


*

  
  
Ron lay motionless in the hospital wing of a large wizard castle perched atop a high mountain in the Translyvanian Alps.  
  
An old witch was busy dipping bandages in a simmering potion and wrapping them around his torso. His hands and arms were already bound. She grimaced as she beheld the terrible burns on the young man's upper body. She dressed his wounds with the gentleness of long practice, but even so she heard him mutter and moan at her touch through the depths of his magically-induced sleep.  
  
A wizard was standing nearby, his red hair and freckles a mature reflection of the injured man.  
  
"Will he be alright?" he asked the old witch worriedly.  
  
"I think so," she said. "But it's very bad. Between the potions and the healing spells, he should recover in time. But some of the scarring goes very deep. Despite our best efforts, some traces will remain."  
  
"What was he thinking?" Charlie muttered. "Taking on a bull Horntail during mating season! It's -- it's suicidal!"  
  
"Yer right, Charlie," came a gruff voice from behind him. "I reckin tha's jus' what it is."  
  
Charlie turned to stare at his old friend, Hagrid. In a way, Charlie towed his career to the Hogwarts Gamekeeper (now Teacher of Care of Magical Creatures), whose love of all sorts of unusual beasts had rubbed off on a young schoolboy not so many years ago.  
  
"I'm sorry?" was all he could say, not sure he had heard right.  
  
Hagrid led Charlie to a corner of the infirmary, then looked down from his great height at the now apprehensive wizard.  
  
"I'd hoped I was wrong," Hagrid said gravely, "but there's no denyin' it. Fer a long time now, Ron's been vol'nteerin' fer the mos' dang'rous assignments. Ac's like 'e don' care if 'e lives er dies. Jus' laughs it off.  
  
"They've 'ung a name on 'im -- call 'im 'Death-Wish Weasley', the man what don' fear nuthin'!"  
  
Charlie gaped. He looked across the room at his youngest brother, who lay serene in his enchanted sleep as the healer finished dressing his wounds.  
  
"He works hard," Charlie said, as if to the air. "Can hardly keep up with him. Not like the old Ron at all. Told him I was proud of him."  
  
He turned toward Hagrid, panic in his eyes.  
  
"Madam Took asked me if he needed a holiday. Told her he just got back from England -- Harry's wedding, you know -- Best Man -- well, you were there, Hagrid -- we all were -- "  
  
But Hagrid was no longer listening. A strange, sad look had come into his eyes. He placed a large hand on Charlie's shoulder.  
  
"Le's go outside, Charlie," Hagrid said in a heavy voice. "I got summat t' tell yeh..."  
  
  
**To Be Continued...**  
  


*~*

  
  
A/N: Thanks to my two loyal (I hope) reviewers, Augurey and Athena McGonagall. Just a reminder that this story, which is already completed, comprises 16 chapters, so the fun (and the angst) has only just begun.  
  
And Athena -- you were right to feel that Romania held ominous things for Ron. But don't worry, Ron fans; things are looking up for your favorite red-head. Of course, _Harry's_ troubles are _just beginning_! But then, since the story began at Harry's gravesite, we knew he was in for a bit of a rough go, didn't we? Well, if you're going to make an omelette...  
  
Look for Chapter 5 soon (right, Fae?)  
  
*Fae, nodding* Toodles! (And for goodness sakes...._Review_)  



	5. Promises

Chapter Five:  
  
Promises  
  
September, 1999  
  
  
Hermione sat propped up in bed, her newborn daughter held to her bosom. Harry sat in a chair next to the bed, staring in wonder at his wife and child. He held his hands out, and Hermione happily handed the tiny bundle to him.  
  
Harry placed a light kiss upon the wisps of brown hair crowning the tiny, tomato-like face. Her eyes were squeezed tight, but the witch midwife had told them that baby Jaime had her father's eyes.  
  
"So beautiful," Harry said breathlessly. "Just like you, Hermi."  
  
Suddenly Harry froze, and Hermione looked at him with a flutter of alarm.  
  
"What?" she said. "Harry?"  
  
"Sorry," Harry smiled. "I just had a thought."  
  
Harry looked down at his baby daughter, his face aglow.  
  
"I'm giving you a new name, sweetheart."  
  
"Not Jaime Lillian?" Hermione said in surprise.  
  
Harry beamed.  
  
"Jaime Lillian _Hermione_. J. L. H."  
  
Hermione looked at Harry quizzically.  
  
"J. L. H." Harry repeated. "Just. Like. Hermione."  
  
The young couple exchanged a loving smile as Hermione took Jaime back and snuggled into her pillow.  
  
"How's the nursery coming?" she asked, her eyes never leaving Jaime.  
  
"Almost done," Harry said. "Be ready when you get home. Sirius has been a big help."  
  
"Everything set with your mum and dad?"  
  
"Mum's taking a year off," Hermione said softy so as not to disturb the now-sleeping Jaime. "As soon as I've served my internship, I'll qualify for 'home office' assignment."  
  
"At our new house," Harry said with assurance. "I'll have saved enough for a down payment by then."  
  
"It'll be perfect," Hermione purred. "Oh, Harry, we're going to be so happy!"  
  
"I love you both so much," Harry said with the slightest quaver in his voice, as if unable to believe or accept how blessed he was. "I'll always be here for you, Hermi. For both of you. Always and forever. I promise."  
  
Harry leaned in and kissed his wife on the forehead. Hermione closed her eyes, and Harry sat for a long time, his eyes damp with tears, watching the two most important people in his life sleep peacefully while he watched over them protectively.  
  
Two weeks later, he was gone.  
  
  
**To Be Continued...**  
  


*~*

  
  
A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed Chapter 4: teazer, hi all, Everett Murvine, and the still loyal Augurey.  
  
Oh, and _Hi All_? We're ALL crazy. Some of us just hide it better than others. ;-)  
  
**Note From Fae Princess:** Oh no! The plot thickens! What's going to happen to Harry? What about Ron? Hermione? You'll have to come back and find out. And if you want to be extra nice, you'll leave a review. Au revoir, mes amies! 


	6. Decisions

**Author's Note:** It's been a while between updates, so a second, stand-alone story is being posted concurrent with this chapter. It's called Dream Girl, and in it Harry is very much alive and well. R/Hr shippers might want to steer clear of this one. Remember, Two Hearts is a fluke; in a proper and ordered universe, Harry and Hermione will _always_ be together.  
  
And now, without further ado, Two Hearts continues:  
  
  


***

  
  
Chapter Six:  
  
Decisions  
  
October, 1999  
  
  
Albus Dumbledore stood before Cornelius Fudge, having refused the chair offered him by the Minister of Magic.  
  
"Is it true, Cornelius?"  
  
Dumbledore's words came slowly, softly; their gentleness belied the hardness of his eyes.  
  
"Yes," the Minister said simply.  
  
Dumbledore drew a measured breath.  
  
"You gave Harry Potter Special Dispensation to use Dark Magic?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The silence held for a long moment.  
  
"Surely that does not include the Unforgivable Curses?"  
  
"It does."  
  
If Fudge expected Dumbledore to lash out at him, he was mistaken. The old wizard's voice remained soft, if alarmed.  
  
"What were you thinking, Cornelius? He's a boy!"  
  
"He's a man," Fudge countered sharply. "He's over eighteen. He has a wife -- "  
  
"Who will shortly become a widow."  
  
"That's not for me to determine."  
  
"Is it not?" Dumbledore's face was an expressionless mask.  
  
Fudge did not reply.  
  
"Then," sighed Dumbledore, "if you will not act...I see that I must."  
  
Fudge straightened in his chair, his brow furrowing.  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I mean," said Dumbledore quietly, "that I am calling a special session of the Cabinet. You may expect their owl by tomorrow morning."  
  
"What -- what are you going to do?"  
  
Dumbledore stood in the doorway and spoke over his shoulder.  
  
"I am invoking Article forty-two."  
  
And he closed the door behind him.  
  


***

  
  
  
**Author's Note:** Many thanks to all who waited patiently for this story to continue, with special mention to those who reviewed Chapter 5: Sierra; Occamy (formerly Lady of the Dragons, formerly Augurey -- how long you gunna keep _this_ name, huh? ^_^); Hollie; sbys; Hermione Weasley; Noodlejelly; hp4eva.  
  
**Special mention:** Most of the above authors are familiar to FF.N's readers. However, sbys is new and currently posting her first story. Check it out. If you ship H/H, you'll love it. If you appreciate good writing, you'll love it. Either way, you can't lose.  
  
Look for Chapter 7 soon (I hope). Thanks for reading.  
  
**Note from Fae Princess:** I'm posting this at about 3-4 in the am, and I'm not the least bit tired. I'm in this weird sleeping phase, since it was knocked out of whack because of Harry Potter's opening night, when I saw it and didn't get out of the theatre until _very_ late. But you don't care about that. In fact, the only thing I really wanted to say was basically an apology, to the readers _and_ especially to Stoneheart. 3 months ago my evil, younger brother destroyed our computer and for the past three months (how fast they fly by!) I haven't had access to the net, unless I went to the library and even then, it was only for a short amount of time. This is why the story hasn't been updated since, and that is why I owe the apology. As of now, we have a much better computer, and it doesn't look like it'll break down on us, thank goodness!  
  
So what'dya think of the chapter? What do you think of the whole story? What did you think of CoS? Tell Stoneheart what you think. Tell him what you think will happen. I'm sure he'll be interested to hear all your input! I know I am!  
  
Stoneheart is now extremely paranoid that this story won't get an update next week. I'm sure he's worried that my brother will maybe toss the monitor out the window or something. But he gets worried over the silliest of things! Watch for an update, people! And be kind and review, please :)  
  
Amour,  
Fae Princess 


	7. Changes

Chapter Seven:  
  
Changes  
  
  
Ron slid awkwardly into the parlor, stumbling as he pulled up. His eyes swept the room anxiously before coming to rest on Hermione.  
  
"I just heard. Is it true?"  
  
Hermione, sitting with folded hands on the small couch, nodded.  
  
"Fudge is out? He's not Minister any more?"  
  
"Dumbledore is the new Minister of Magic," Hermione said listlessly.  
  
"How?" Ron asked, seating himself on the edge of the coffee table, his face eager.  
  
"Under Article forty-two," Hermione said tonelessly, "of the Wizards' Charter of 1840, the Chief Administrator, whatever his current title, can have his position challenged by a council member on the grounds that he is not acting in the best interests of the Magical Community."  
  
Ron thought a moment.  
  
"Dumbledore's not on the council? Is he?"  
  
Hermione did not look at Ron as she spoke.  
  
"Paragraph four permits challenge from any witch or wizard with one hundred years of service to the Community. And, of course, Fudge only got the position in the first place when Dumbledore turned it down. Most of the council had been merely tolerating Fudge, waiting for Dumbledore to change his mind. And once Dumbledore presented his case, the rest simply fell into line. They offered him the position on the spot."  
  
She stopped, and, though her head was bowed, Ron could see wetness on her cheeks.  
  
"But -- that's good news, isn't it? I mean, surely Dumbledore will revoke Harry's Special Dispensation, if he hasn't already?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Then what's wrong?"  
  
Tears began to trickle down Hermione's face.  
  
"He's gone," she said, her lip trembling. "They...they don't know where he is..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He -- he disappeared into the Black Forest a week ago. N-no one's s-seen him..."  
  
Ron felt a slight chill as Hermione stifled a sob.  
  
"I'm sure Dumbledore will find him before -- "  
  
But Hermione had burst into tears. All Ron could do was sit down beside her on the couch and wrap his arms around her.  
  
From somewhere beyond the parlor doorway, baby Jaime began to cry.  



	8. Dark Mark

**Author's Note**:To all still reading (including newcomer JediHermione), be advised that the next few chapters contain the violence which earned this story its PG-13 rating. 

***

  
  
Chapter Eight:  
  
Dark Mark  
  
  
In the Stygian depths of the Black Forest lay a clearing. The surrounding trees shouldered each other so closely that no living creature larger than a rabbit could squeeze through. A canopy of interlaced branches blocked the night sky from view.  
  
The supernally dense growth likewise obscured all view of the clearing from the prying of outside eyes. None but the favored beheld the obsidian spire in the exact center, its heights lost in the gloom; nor the basalt altar at its base, its channels crusted with dark crimson.  
  
To one side stood a small brazier filled with glowing coals. A red-robed arm stretched out; a narrow, bony hand scattered a queer dust onto the coals. There was a momentary flare as clouds of noxious vapor rose.  
  
Lord Voldemort breathed in the narcotic fumes, smiled evilly. His inhuman eyes seemed to stare off into fathomless depths as he lifted his wand in a fluid motion, muttered low, then replaced it in his crimson robes.  
  
A faint popping noise sounded behind him.  
  
"So, Lucius," he began, turning slowly, "what news do you -- "  
  
But the words froze on Voldemort's tongue.  
  
"You!" he spat, reaching for his wand.  
  
But Harry's wand was already out. Thin cords exploded from the tip and closed about Voldemort until he was wrapped tightly as a mummy. Struggling feebly, he fell to the ground as Harry slowly tucked his wand into his robes.  
  
Voldemort glowered up at Harry, his snake-like eyes glowing red as the coals in the nearby brazier.  
  
"How?" he hissed. "I summoned Malfoy -- "  
  
For answer, Harry pulled back his left sleeve; the Dark Mark burned blackly on his arm.  
  
"Impossible!" Voldemort croaked. "No counterfeit could respond to my summons! Only a mark burned by my own wand could -- "  
  
"This is no counterfeit," Harry said evenly, lowering his arm.  
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed.  
  
"Where is Lucius?" he demanded.  
  
"Saving you a seat in Hell, if I'm any judge," Harry replied.  
  
Voldemort stared in disbelief.  
  
"But before he died," Harry said, his eyes hard as jade, "I used my wand to strip the living skin from his arm and graft it onto my own."  
  
Voldemort's hatred was palpable as he glared unwinking at Harry.  
  
But Harry's gaze was fixed elsewhere. His eyes rested on the blood-stained altar as a chill played along his spine. He knew the clearing was surrounded by a magical barrier through which no living flesh could pass. Only the summons of the Dark Mark could pierce it.  
  
Harry's body tensed. With a sweeping motion, he pointed his wand at the base of the stone pillar and released a fine thread of silver flame. With this he burned an arcane mark into the ebon stone, wielding his wand with the precision of a surgeon.  
  
As the complex rune assumed its full proportions, Voldemort stared in amazement. This did not escape Harry, his youthful face set with a thin smile chiseled in granite.  
  
"Now," said Harry coolly, "we can neither of us leave, for that sign cancels the power of the Dark Mark. You cannot summon your Death Eaters as you unwittingly summoned me.  
  
"Nor can either of us Disapparate within this space. Nor from it."  
  
Harry rolled his wand indifferently between his fingers as Voldemort's venomous gaze burned malevolently.  
  
"As I see it," Harry said, regarding Voldemort casually from the corner of his eye, "you have two choices. You can lower the barrier and I'll deliver you to the Aurors. Or you can refuse, in which case I will simply kill you here and now and save the Ministry the pretense of a trial.  
  
"Which will it be?"  
  
A razor-edged smile appeared on Voldemort's serpentine lips.  
  
"I prefer a third alternative," he said liquidly.  
  
Harry jerked his head around, blinking stupidly. The cords binding Voldemort collapsed like a deflating balloon. Voldemort was gone! In his place was a huge black snake with eyes that burned red mockery at Harry.  
  
Harry brought his wand to bear too late; the snake had vanished into the darkness.  
  
Silently cursing his arrogance, Harry stared into the opaque silence, his wand hanging at his side.  
  
"You still can't Disapparate," Harry said emotionlessly, standing as though calmly waiting for the Knight Bus. Then, in a low voice: "It will end as it was written, then. Just you and I.  
  
"Only one of us will leave this place alive."  
  
And, in a hushed whisper: "I love you, Hermione. Forgive me."  
  


***

  
  
**Note From Fae**: So, have you guys seen CoS, yet? I saw it opening night, and I'm crazy enough to stand in line for 3 hours just to get decent seats. We got the BEST seats. We waited in line behind some really cool people, and we were in front of some really INTERESTING people. I met this girl (the girl who was standing behind me) who's from the exact same town that my Grand-parents live, which is a rarity, because it's this small little town in Winnipeg about 20 minutes from where I grew up. I just thought I'd say that, since I didn't leave a note last time, and I know how much you guys missed me!  
Review! Tell Stoneheart what you think of the story, and tell ME what you thought of the movie. See you later! 


	9. Duel

**Note From Fae**: Stoneheart asked me to post this chapter yesterday, and I promised him that I would, but I got caught up in school...and how much it sucks! Finals are coming up, and I've been very stressed out. But Stoneheart is helping me keep my sanity. And I've seen Chamber of Secrets three times now! And still counting...  
Read, Enjoy, and Review!  
  


***

  
  
Chapter Nine:  
  
Duel  
  
  
Harry leaped into the darkness of the perimeter, far from the feeble but revealing glow of the brazier. Fumbling in his robes, he pulled out a bundle, shook it out. In an instant the Invisibility Cloak was over him. He padded stealthily ahead, spiraling his way to the center of the clearing.  
  
"I know you are wearing your Invisibility Cloak, Harry," hissed the unseen voice of Voldemort. "You are aware, of course, that I need no cloak to become invisible. We are at a stand-off."  
  
"I can wait," Harry said, using his wand to send his voice to every corner to lessen the potential for detection.  
  
"Can you?" Voldemort countered. "Will your Aurors arrive first? Or will my Death Eaters? While it is true that I cannot summon them to me, they will return of their own accord in time. And they can dissolve the barrier surrounding this space as easily as can I."  
  
Harry knew Voldemort could lower the barrier and flee at any time. But he would not do so immediately, Harry reasoned -- not while the chance remained that the Aurors would appear before his Death Eaters. But if Voldemort's followers arrived first --  
  
Harry gripped his wand tightly, his hand quivering, his knuckles white.  
  
He knew Voldemort spoke truly. Harry had known this possibility existed did he not subdue Voldemort quickly. Stealth was the safer route, but time limited its efficacy. Harry was no fool, nor had he a death wish. But a world ruled by Voldemort and his Death Eaters was unacceptable.  
  
There was only one course of action.  
  
"A duel!" Harry's challenge rebounded from the dense foliage, magnified in the Cimmerian darkness. "Face to face!"  
  
"Agreed!"  
  
Harry reluctantly doffed his Cloak and cast it aside. Wand out, he inched forward, eyes darting left and right.  
  
He saw Voldemort standing before the altar, his wand pointing at the ground. Harry approached slowly, ready for treachery from any avenue.  
  
But Voldemort merely smiled venomously.  
  
"Wands up," he purred.  
  
Harry lifted his wand up beside his head, following Voldemort's example, then whipped it down, rapier-like. Voldemort bowed; Harry bent his back slightly, his eyes never leaving his adversary.  
  
Voldemort moved with the speed of a striking adder. He screamed, "_Avada Kedavra_!" A lance of green fire pierced the darkness.  
  
But Harry was not there. Diving behind the edge of the altar, he cried, "_Petrificus Totalus_!"  
  
Voldemort dodged the Curse with a serpentine twist, lunged sideways to flank Harry's position, and thrust his wand before him even as Harry leaped to his feet.  
  
"_Crucio_!"  
  
Harry's wand was before him, and the Curse ricocheted from the tip and careened off at an angle.  
  
Voldemort stared in astonishent.  
  
"Barty Crouch taught me that one," Harry mocked. "_Expelliarmus_!"  
  
Voldemort's wand shot into the air. The Dark Lord hissed sibilantly as Harry held out his hand --  
  
A streaking 'something' flashed across Harry's line of vision. It soared high, swung around and came to rest on Voldemort's shoulder.  
  
It was a winged snake, and it held Voldemort's wand in its jaws.  
  
'Parseltongue,' Harry thought, momentarily stunned. If he hadn't been so distracted by his own smugness --  
  
"You are weak, Harry," Voldemort taunted. "You haven't the nerve to kill me! You even disdain the Unforgivable Curses, attacking me with schoolboy spells! Your claim to have killed Lucius is ludicrous -- though I do grant your cunning in appropriating the Dark Mark from him. No matter. He will be freed, along with the others, when Azkaban is liberated."  
  
A malignant oath rising to his lips, Harry pointed his wand -- too late! Voldemort had melted into the darkness. Tasting bile, Harry backed away until he, too, was swathed in gloom.  
  
"Come, Harry!" came Voldemort's inhuman cry. "I await you!"  
  
Harry hesitated, then pointed his wand straight up and said, "_Incendio_!"  
  
A bolt of fire shot from his wand, pierced the overhanging branches, and was gone.  
  
"A signal to the Aurors, Harry?" Voldemort chided. "Do you so fear me, then? But your wisdom comes too late. I was not entirely forthcoming earlier, Harry. You see, I took the precaution of dividing my Death Eaters into two parties. One group will by now have led the Aurors on a merry chase far from here. The rest -- ah, the rest will no doubt have seen your signal and are even now surrounding this space. Indeed, this little duel was merely a...distraction, shall we say...an innocuous amusement to pass the time while I drew my snare about your unsuspecting neck.  
  
"It would appear that terms are now _mine_ to dictate, Harry. Surrender, and I will let you live, to serve me under the Imperius Curse. But my patience is not endless; choose now, lest I relent of my mercy! Choose, I say!"  
  
Harry stared unblinking into the darkness. Slowly he raised his wand --  



	10. Blood

**Author's Note**: Welcome to newcomers **CurtK** and **SnWfLaKeSwEeTy**. I hope you and everyone else are still hanging in there.  
  


***

  
  
Chapter Ten:  
  
Blood  
  
  
"This will take time, Albus," Sirius said, indicating the dense forest before them with a sharp movement of his dark eyes.  
  
"Time," said Dumbledore, "is something we do not have in abundance."  
  
"No help for it," Sirius shrugged. "No Apparating through that barrier. I shudder to think how much innocent blood was spilled to erect it."  
  
Both men knew that the most potent of Dark Magicks derived power from human sacrifice. The strength of this barrier left no doubt regarding the means by which it was achieved.  
  
"Blood cancels blood," Sirius stated matter-of-factly. He drew back his left sleeve and extended his arm.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. He picked up a melon-sized stone and touched it with his wand, transfiguring it into a crucible. He then traced a line across Sirius' bare arm, parting the skin as with a scalpel. As Dumbledore caught the flowing blood in the crucible, Sirius looked on impassively. Then the younger man lifted his eyes, a low growl reverberating deep in his throat.  
  
Sirius stared intently at the impenetrable forest from the heart of which had come the fiery beacon that had drawn them to this place -- a signal that could only have come from his godson.  
  
Somewhere in those black depths, Harry was confronting the most dangerous and powerful Dark Wizard in the world, beside whom Grindlewald paled to insignificance. Sirius swore under his breath, reserving his most colorful blasphemies for Cornelius Fudge. He vowed that, if he survived this night, there would come a reckoning beside which Voldemort's fate would seem a holiday at Brighton Beach.  
  
Sirius and Dumbledore were all that remained of the Aurors, the rest having disregarded Dumbledore's counsel and followed a false trail to parts unknown. The pair had no way of knowing how many foes awaited them in the black belly of that sinister wood. They knew only that they must act without delay. Harry might be the Boy Who Lived, the Child of Prophecy; but he was still only one man. One man, alone, against the Dark Lord.  
  
Though outwardly calm, Sirius seethed inwardly with a passion that knew no equal in his life. For a handful of Knuts he would have launched himself into that tangled wall with tooth and nail.  
  
He steeled himself with a grimace. He reminded himself that it was not the forest that was the true barrier. Voldemort's magical shield was the real obstacle, and he would see it fall if it took every drop of blood in his veins.  
  
When the crucible was full, Sirius sealed the cut with a touch of his own wand, leaving a thin, white scar.  
  
"Poppy wouldn't have left a scar," Dumbledore observed wryly, attempting to ease the tension.  
  
Sirius responded with a smile as thin and ominous as the line on his arm.  
  
Suddenly his head jerked up.  
  
"Did you hear thunder, Albus?"  
  
"I heard something," Dumbledore replied slowly, his eyes on the clear, star-dotted sky. "What, I cannot say."  
  
The old wizard's eyes seemed to hint at a greater knowledge than his lips had divulged, but Sirius chose not to press the matter.  
  
"It's past midnight, isn't it?" Sirius remarked in what might have passed for detatchment under other circumstances.  
  
"A fitting date," Dumbledore said soberly. "Now, if you will stand back, Sirius."  
  
Dumbledore touched the rim of the crucible and a small notch appeared. Then, drawing on a store of knowledge unequaled in the wizarding world, he poured the blood on the ground, tracing a rune that was ancient when Merlin walked the earth. When this was accomplished, he pointed his wand at the center of the crimson glyph and muttered low.  
  
A tiny sphere of fire appeared. hovering in mid-air. Dumbledore spoke again, and the sphere grew, expanded slowly until it could not have been compassed by the arms of both men.  
  
Dumbledore pocketed his wand, then stood before the fiery sphere, his arms raised above his head. His blue eyes stared unwinking at the flames, seeming to pierce them and fix on the dark barrier beyond.  
  
Sirius covered his ears; he knew the incantation to come brought madness to any but the speaker.  
  
Dumbledore's bearded lips formed words unspoken by human tongue for a hundred lifetimes. As he spoke, the flaming sphere brightened, flared. A hot wind rushed out from the burning orb. Dumbledore threw back his head, his long hair and beard dancing in the volcanic breeze, their silver-white sheen tinged carmine.  
  
Sirius pressed his hands to his ears as tightly as he could, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth bared in a mirthless grin. As Dumbledore cried out to the heavens, a jet of fire lanced out from the pulsating sphere. It shot through the trees, which melted away as ice before an iron brand.  
  
The fire died. The sphere seemed to heave a tortured sigh before it collapsed in on itself and expired as suddenly as a candle flame from the breath of a child.  
  
Sirius, his eyes open again, stared. A corridor lay before them, broad enough for two horsemen to ride abreast.  
  
"Do we Apparate in?" Sirius asked anxiously, his body quivering like a spring striving for release.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head.  
  
"Not until we know what awaits us. But we must not tarry -- four feet are swifter than two -- "  
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Sirius transformed into dog-form and raced down the tree-lined corridor. Dumbledore, sprinting at a pace remarkable for his age, followed, his eyes blue flame, his mouth a thin, grim line beneath his flowing white beard.  



	11. What Price Victory?

**Note From Fae Princess:** This is the hardest chapter for me to read...no wait..._one_ of the most difficult. The next one is pretty hard...and well, I'm not going to get a head of myself, here. I actually almost forgot to post this, and I hope you all enjoy! Review!  
  


***

  
  
Chapter Eleven:  
  
What Price Victory?  
  
  
Some part of Harry did, in fact, hope that his signal would be seen by an Auror. But its primary purpose was yet to be realized.  
  
A fierce battle was raging inside Harry over his course of action. Though empowered by the Ministry to use Dark Magic, yet Harry could not deny Voldemort's taunt regarding his courage to do so. Dark Magic was powerful, yes; but it was also insidious. It was a drug that seeped into the mind of the user and perverted his judgment, his morals -- his humanity. If Harry wished to return to his wife and daughter the same man he'd been upon his departure, he knew he must tread that razor's edge delicately.  
  
But if Voldemort could not be subdued by any other means, what then? Could he make that decision?  
  
A sudden realization washed over him like ice water. _Would_ he return to his loved ones? Would he leave this place alive? And if alive, in what state? Maimed? Mindless? Or corrupted into something even he himself would not recognize?  
  
All this passed through Harry's mind within the space of a single heartbeat. He shook himself, took in a slow breath and let it out. The time for debate was past. It was time to act. He could only trust that, in the end, he would do the right thing. For he knew with a cold, grim certainty that he would get no second chance.  
  
Softly, so that Voldemort could not hear, Harry pointed his wand up and spoke two words. He waited.  
  
A soft rushing sound came to his ears. He reached out a hand, and his fingers closed on the shaft of his Firebolt.  
  
He had set the broomstick high above the Black Forest with a Hover Charm. He knew not how near nor far from it would be Voldemort's sanctuary. But the Summoning Charm had brought it unerringly to him through the hole he had blasted in the leafy canopy. He knew that Voldemort's magical barrier was proof against living flesh only, that it would be as smoke to a wooden broomstick.  
  
Harry mounted, kicked off.  
  
He rose until his head touched the highest branches. He then began a slow downward spiral, keeping to the perimeter, hugging the deepest shadows. He was certain Voldemort would be nowhere near the center.  
  
Harry touched his wand to the point between his eyes, whispered, "_Oculus Nocturnus_." With a suddenness that made his head throb, his eyes became night-vision lenses. The blackness became a dim, gray haze into which he peered intently, searching, searching...  
  
With hawk-like swiftness, Harry dived, his wand before him.  
  
"_Stupefy_!"  
  
Voldemort dodged with inhuman speed, aimed his wand unerringly at Harry.  
  
"_Expelliarmus_!"  
  
Harry was nearly knocked off his broom. He had expected to be attacked with a Dark Curse which he could dodge or block. But Voldemort had proved cleverer than Harry expected. The Disarming Charm had a wider scope than an Attacking Curse, and it slammed into Harry like an open hand swatting a fly. Harry realized as well that Voldemort must have performed a similar night-vision spell on his own eyes, for he had known precisely where to point his wand to hit Harry full force.  
  
The Firebolt responded instantly to Harry's touch, seeming almost to read his mind. Without conscious thought, he looped, rolled, came at Voldemort from another angle. He hoped to frustrate his adversary by attacking at random, allowing for no anticipation. Yet his approach was not wholly without purpose.  
  
Using his speed to advantage, Harry attacked from the right, a typical blind spot for a right-handed opponent. Hugging his broom handle, he pointed his wand and drew breath for his incantation --  
  
In that instant, Voldemort jerked his head to the left, covering his eyes with his free hand, as his wand stabbed directly at Harry.  
  
"_LUMOS_!"  
  
The beam of light that hit Harry's sensitized eyes nearly made his head burst. Jerking spasmodically on his broom handle, he careened off, his features twisted in a silent scream to which he dared not give voice, lest Voldemort pinpoint his location and attack again.  
  
Using his absolute mastery of his superlative broomstick, Harry swept the clearing, rising and falling with no design so as not to make himself a predictable target. Around and around the spire he flew as he struggled to raise his wand to cancel the Night-Vision Charm in an effort to mitigate his agony. He thought to hear the distant screams of the Dark Lord, no doubt hurling Curses which could not find their mark due to Harry's chaotic maneuvering. But the rushing in his ears, combined with the surging pain behind his eyes, drove all cogent thought from his brain.  
  
Far below, Voldemort was livid beyond description. Harry was a darting hornet, a blur in the darkness which no Curse could touch. Beside himself with fury, Voldemort's frustration turned his brain to fire, his reason to madness, leaving only blind rage and bloodlust in its stead.  
  
Insensate with wrath, Voldemort's last thread of sanity snapped. Thrusting his wand savagely at the obsidian spire at the heart of the clearing, he twisted his face into a mask of indescribable hate and screamed, "_INCENDIO MAJORIS_!"  
  
The black pillar exploded! Thunder rocked the clearing. Great billowing clouds of dust roiled, pierced by smoldering chunks of stone which screamed their vehemence before striking the ground with the impact of cannon shells.  
  
Voldemort barely had the presence of mind to erect a Personal Shield around himself, behind which he huddled, head bowed, as devastation reigned all about.  
  
He rose at last, blinked his subhuman eyes, and surveyed the carnage his dementia had wrought. He lifted his wand and said, "_Euraquilo_!" A great, whirling wind sprang up, carrying away the heavy, noxious clouds to the edge of the scarred clearing.  
  
"_Solaris_!"  
  
A tiny, glowing orb leaped from his wand. As he hastened to cancel the Night-Vision spell, he watched the burning sphere rise until it hovered high above the place where had stood the now-destroyed pillar. Once in position, it swelled, expanded into a minature sun that illuminated the scene with midday clarity.  
  
Voldemort picked his way through chunks of splintered stone and heaps of earth. His feet crunched on bits of twigs and leaves blasted from the surrounding trees. Silence hung like a pall, causing even these subtle noises to echo symphonically.  
  
Abruptly he expelled a hissing breath. His red eyes narrowed, then widened fervidly, an evil smile forming on his thin, snake-like lips.  
  
The figure lying before him was a twisted ruin, its limbs askew in a manner to inspire horror. Shredded, bloody robes lay in disarray, exposing raw, mangled flesh and white bone. Dark splashes painted the ground on all sides.  
  
Voldemort gripped his wand triumphantly as his other hand clawed the air spasmodically. He stepped close, looked down at the ruin that had once been a handsome, youthful face.  
  
The eyes were open, staring unwinkingly upwards. Voldemort bent down, trembling with hellish euphoria --  
  
The eyes moved! They narrowed, fastened on the Dark Lord's crimson orbs like twin points of emerald flame.  
  
Voldemort screamed, struggled in his awkward position to raise his wand and bring it to bear --  
  
But Harry's wand, driven by a superhuman will and his last vestige of strength, was already pointing at Voldemort's heart. Blood bubbling from his pulped lips, Harry rasped, "_Avada...Kedavra_!"  
  
High above, the glowing sphere winked out.  
  
**To Be Continued...**


	12. Darkness

**Note from Fae:** Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you have/had a good one! This is a short one, I know...but it's the one that gets to me...whenever I need a good cry, I fly to this chapter. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed being a part of it, as much as Stoneheart enjoyed writing it. Review!  
  


***

  
  
Chapter Twelve:  
  
Darkness  
  
  
Dumbledore entered the clearing warily, his wand before him. His astonishment at the devastation he discovered was not apparent in his eyes, though his insides churned with dread.  
  
It was the sound of bitter sobs which drew him to that which he most feared to find.  
  
Dumbledore waved his wand; a dozen candles appeared, spread out to ring a scene that brought a gasping cry to his lips.  
  
A hunched form was revealed in the candlelight, shaking with unrestrained anguish. The figure over which it was bent was of a state to send ice through Dumbledore's veins.  
  
Sirius raised his head, his eyes red with tears.  
  
"Help him, Albus!" he sobbed pleadingly. "He can't DIE! He CAN'T!"  
  
Kneeling opposite Sirius, Dumbledore extended his arms, spreading his long fingers wide. One hand he placed on Harry's bosom, the other on his forehead at the point of his lightning scar. He closed his eyes, reached out with his mind and heart. He plumbed deep, touching the utmost shores of Harry's body and soul.  
  
He lifted his head at last, and Sirius looked hopefully into Dumbledore's blue eyes. The old wizard met the younger man's gaze, then lowered his eyes wordlessly.  
  
Sirius buried his face in his hands, collapsing to the ruined earth in a paroxysm of wretchedness and misery.  
  
Through the torment of his own tears, Dumbledore felt a pathetic shudder wrack Harry's body, saw the young man's lips moving feebly. He bent, placed his ear very close.  
  
"T-tell..." Harry whispered very faintly, his tortured body trembling with the effort, "tell...H...L-lo..."  
  
"She knows, dear boy," Dumbledore said to the still figure cradled in his arms, his tears coursing down his cheeks to dampen his moustaches. "She knows."  



	13. Turn The Page

Chapter Thirteen:  
  
Turn the Page  
  
October 31, 2000  
  
  


***

  
  
Ron walked over to the couch, a folded blanket under his arm. A faint trace of a smile crossed his long, freckled face, but his eyes were tender and a little sad.  
  
Hermione lay with her eyes closed, curled into a fetal position. Her face looked serene in repose, but her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed, as from much crying.  
  
Ron unfolded the blanket and covered her gently. He hesitated, then bent and lightly kissed her bushy brown hair, which fell in cascades over her shoulders.  
  
All this Molly Weasley observed as she walked downstairs, a wide, flat box in her hands.  
  
Ron was now approaching the stairs. He stopped, stared at the box in his mother's hands. He knew what was in it: Hermione's mourning cloak and veil.  
  
Today marked the one-year anniversary of Harry's death. The traditional mourning period was ended. Upon their return from the cemetary, Hermione had quietly allowed Mrs. Weasley to divest her of the garments; then, emotionally exhausted, she had sunk into a much-needed sleep.  
  
Ron's eyes were unfathomable as he briefly looked into his mother's face. He then glided up the stairs without a word.  
  
Molly went into the kitchen, where she found her husband cradling a steaming cup of tea. He gave her an inquiring glance, gestured with his cup. She nodded shortly, and Arthur filled another cup and set it before her.  
  
"How's Ron?" Arthur asked.  
  
"That boy -- " Molly said, setting the box to her left as she sat down, " -- I don't know what's holding him together. On the outside, he's like steel -- but I know that, on the inside, he's breaking into a million pieces."  
  
Arthur nodded.  
  
"He has scars that have nothing to do with dragons. Those are the ones that worry me -- the ones we can't see.  
  
"Even after all this time, I still can't quite believe it. When Charlie told us..."  
  
"I was shocked," Molly said, methodically splashing cream into her tea, "but not surprised. I've known for a long time that Ron was in love with Hermione. He said nothing, of course. He knew how she felt about Harry. His one hope was that Harry wouldn't return her feelings. When he finally came around, it was just too much for Ron. I can see it all so clearly now. I knew there was more to his sabbatical than met the eye. He couldn't bear to be around them, especially after they announced their engagement near the end of sixth year. What was he to do? He couldn't risk doing or saying anything that might spoil their happiness."  
  
"We raised a good son," Arthur said wearily. "But at what cost to Ron? And what happens now?" He tilted his head in the direction of the living room.  
  
"Now," Molly said, "that girl needs something subtantial to hold onto. She's as fragile as Ron, if not moreso."  
  
"They're both hiding behind walls," Arthur said. "But how to tear them down so they can see the truth that's right in front of them?"  
  
"Only they can do that," Molly said. "All we can do is pray they do so before it's too late -- for both of them."  
  
The uneasy silence that followed was broken when Ron strode into the kitchen, cradling Jaime in his arms.  
  
"Look who's hungry, then," he smiled.  
  
"Let me -- " Molly began, but Ron had already drawn his wand.  
  
"No worries," he chimed. A cupboard opened, and a bottle floated toward Ron and hovered before him.  
  
"How many refills left, dear?" Molly asked.  
  
Ron craned his neck. Under the inscription Madam Magda's Magical Formula was a circle in which a small number 5 shone a dull red.  
  
"Four more after this one," Ron said.  
  
"I'll pop over to the store tomorrow while you and your father are at work," Molly said.  
  
Ron touched his wand to the number 5; it instantly changed to a 4 as the bottle began to bubble at the bottom. Ron watched the formula rise until the bottle was filled to the top. Then, with an exaggerrated flourish (all witnessed by a thoroughly fascinated Jaime), Ron waved his wand around the bottle, which promptly tipped itself and splashed a single drop onto his wrist.  
  
"Perfect," he said with a satisfied grin and a sidewise glance at Jaime. "Your mum taught me that Charm. Never fails."  
  
Ron returned to the living room and seated himself in a stuffed chair, the bottle following like a balloon on a string. He nestled Jaime into the crook of his left arm, gesturing to the bottle until it was floating an inch from Jaime's anxious face. The little girl reached out and drew the familiar object to her.  
  
Tucking his wand away, Ron stared into Jaime's bright green eyes, brushing a strand of fine brown hair from her face as she nursed contentedly.  
  
"We visited your dad today," Ron said softly. "I wish you could've known him. He was a great wizard. And a good friend. I miss him.  
  
"He was a hero, y'know. Still is. The world we live in today is all down to him, isn't it?  
  
"He loved you and your mum. He didn't want to leave you. But he had to. He wanted to make the world a safe place for little ones like you. And no one else could have done what he did. He was special. He was -- he was -- the best..."  
  
Ron's eyes grew distant, his voice strained.  
  
"I wish...I wish I could change places with him. He should be here...holding you...loving you...watching you grow up to be a great witch, just like your mum.  
  
"And you will, too! That's you, luv -- J.L.H. Just Like Hermione!  
  
"Oh, she's the greatest, your mum is! Top of the charts! You'll find out when you get to Hogwarts! Smartest witch ever! Be talkin' about her a hundred years from now, they will!  
  
"Why, your mum's going to be the first-ever Muggle-born Minister of Magic, you wait and see if she isn't! I heard your dad say it a hundred times! I mean, old Dumbledore's got to retire sometime, doesn't he?"  
  
Ron smiled down at Jaime, who flashed her innocent green eyes once before lowering her lids heavily.  
  
Seeing that Jaime was no longer nursing, Ron sprited the bottle onto the coffee table and lifted her onto his shoulder.  
  
"I know I can never take your dad's place. No one can ever do that. But Uncle Ron loves you, sweetheart. Never forget that."  
  
He kissed the top of Jaime's head as he gently rocked her back and forth.  
  
And on the couch, her face hidden by the blanket, Hermione felt hot tears course down her cheeks.  



	14. Walls

Chapter Fourteen:  
  
Walls  
  
  


***

  
  
Ron nudged the closet door closed as he pulled on his cloak.  
  
"Ron."  
  
Ron turned to see Hermione standing in the hall doorway.  
  
"Thought you were sleeping," he muttered, averting his eyes.  
  
"I -- I just wanted to thank you."  
  
"For what?" Ron said, tugging at his cloak where it was bunching at the shoulder. "Oh, for feeding Jaime? That was -- "  
  
"No. For everything. Ron, I -- I don't know what I'd have done this past year without you. I don't think I could've -- "  
  
She leaped forward, wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed to his chest. Without a thought he hugged her against him, burying his face in her hair.  
  
"Hermi -- I -- I've got to go -- "  
  
Her response was to cling even more tightly to him.  
  
"Please, " he said, his voice a tremulous whisper, "don't do this -- I can't -- "  
  
"I love you, Ron."  
  
Her voice was muffled by Ron's robes, but the words sent an electric charge through him that turned his knees to rubber.  
  
"No -- " he rasped, " -- no -- it's -- today -- everything -- you're not -- thinking -- " He wanted so desperately to believe. But he dared not! "You're -- missing Harry -- but -- I'm not -- Harry -- "  
  
"No, " she said, her tears dampening his robes. "You're not. You're Ron. Ron Weasley. The kindest -- most wonderful -- most loving man God ever placed on this Earth. And I love you."  
  
Ron's quivering knees buckled, and they collapsed to the floor, still holding each other.  
  
"I've loved you for so long," he sobbed, his tears wetting her hair. "B-but I n-never wanted H-Harry -- I l-loved him -- "  
  
"I know," Hermione said, her own voice quavering slightly. "And he loved you."  
  
"B-but how can I -- I mean -- wh-what would he say -- "  
  
"I think -- " Hermione said slowly, " -- I think he'd say, 'Thank God Ron's there to love Hermi and Jaime for me.' I -- I think he knew when he left that he -- that he might not be back. And -- I don't think he could have gone if he didn't know you'd be here for me -- for us -- if -- if the worst happened.  
  
"I think he even knew that I'd -- that I'd fall in love with you."  
  
"Marry me, Hermi!" Ron gasped sobbingly. "I -- I promise I'll try to be the best husband and father I can -- I promise -- "  
  
"I know you will, Ron."  
  
"Is -- is that a 'yes'?"  
  
"Yes! Oh, yes!"  
  
They sat together on the hallway floor, Ron's back against the closet door, rocking gently in each other's arms. Neither saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley slip quietly back into the kitchen.  
  
"God does answer prayers, Molly," Arthur said, his vision blurring slightly.  
  
"I never doubted it," Molly said, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron.  
  
**_Not_ the end...**  
  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:** This story could end right here. In fact, when I wrote it months ago, this was the last chapter. But it felt incomplete somehow. Something was missing. And I quickly realized what it was: Harry.  
  
Yes, Harry is gone. But those we love never truly leave us. Much as I like Ron, I felt the need to end things with the emphasis firmly on Harry. So tune in next time for the first of two epilogue chapters which will (I hope) set things to rights.  
  
And to all who are still reading after all this time: Thanks.  
  
**Note From Fae:** This chapter is always so difficult for me to read. (And I've read it a hundred and one different times). Ron and Hermione are so wrong together, and I've told Stoneheart as much a thousand times, and he agrees with me. But he keeps insisting that Hermione would only choose Ron over the loss of Harry. He has a lot more guts than I do. I could never write anything that resulted in a Ron and Hermione ship. But I know I'm just going in circles here. Stay tuned for the next chapter! 


	15. Past and Future

Chapter Fifteen:  
  
Past and Future  
  
London, 2025  
  
  


***

  
  
A small fire-grate sprang to life on the desk of the Minister of Magic. The face of a plump, gray-haired witch appeared in the flames.  
  
"Minister," the talking head said, "the Deputy Minister is here."  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Wormwood. Please send her in."  
  
Mrs. Wormwood's face vanished, followed by the flames. The door opened to admit a witch of early middle years with shoulder-length brown hair.  
  
"Arthur," she said, seating herself without formality. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"I need an opinion," Arthur Weasley said, standing and looking around casually. The fringe of hair surrounding his bald pate was now almost completely white, and (much to his wife's dismay) fell well below his shoulders, swaying as he turned about.  
  
Arthur paused, and the Deputy Minister waited patiently. She was accustomed to the Minister's long intervals between discourses.  
  
"I"ve been thinking," Arthur continued as if no time at all had elapsed, "that this office could stand a bit of redecorating. What do you think, Hermione?"  
  
"I've thought so for a long time," Hermione replied. "I've sent you a few memos on the subject, as I recall."  
  
"So you have," Arthur nodded genially, "so you have." He stood surveying his desk, which was almost completely covered with framed photos of the Weasley children -- six sons and a daughter -- with their respective families. As his eyes roamed over this forest of smiling faces (all of them moving and/or waving), they settled on one in particular.  
  
There was a definite schism between the males and females in this photo. The twin boys were tall and red-haired, freckled and blue-eyed, like their father. But the daughter sported a head of bushy brown hair identical to her mother's. They differed only in their eyes. The mother's eyes were a rich coffee color, while the daughter's were the clear green of polished emeralds.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat, and Arthur's head snapped up.  
  
"Oh, yes, um...well...where were we? Ah, yes -- redecorating. So, um, Hermione, I'd like you to make up a lst of recommendations. Get some cost estimates, all that sort of thing. All in triplicate, of course."  
  
"Of course," she nodded, smiling. However different the wizarding world was from the Muggle world, certain aspects of civilization remained constant. "When would you like the figures?"  
  
"Mm?" Arthur said in a distracted way. "Oh, they're not for me, luv -- they're for you."  
  
"For me?" Hermione's eyes widened in confusion.  
  
"Of course," Arthur said. "I mean, as you'll be taking over the office next month, I'm sure you'll want everything, shall we say, up to speed?"  
  
"I'll be -- " Hermione bolted up.  
  
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Arthur said with a sly grin. "I'm retiring next month. Got loads of grandkids haven't seen their old granddad in ages. Not getting any younger, am I? No, no, time to move on. Priorities, you know."  
  
"B-but -- how -- " Hermione stammered, her hands clasping and unclasping. "I -- I mean -- doesn't the board have to vote -- "  
  
"Already voted, didn't they?" Arthur said, his eyes twinkling. "Nearly unanimous. Only one dissenting vote, actually -- Lucius Malfoy -- well -- less said of him the better, what?"  
  
Hermione stood motionless, her eyes nearly as large as those of a house-elf. Arthur leveled an impish stare at her.  
  
"You _do_ want the position? Well, I can understand. Load of headaches, isn't it? Ah, well..." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if Percy would be interested? I'll have Mrs. Wormwood draw up a letter straightway." He reached a leisurely hand toward the fire-com.  
  
Hermione dashed around the desk and threw her arms around Arthur's neck.  
  
"Oh, Arthur, thank you..."  
  
Arthur snorted with an exaggerated lift of his head.  
  
"Thank me when you're waist-deep in ruddy forms waiting to be read and signed," he grunted. "Or the next time it all goes sour and they're crying for someone's head in a noose.  
  
"You earned it, luv, and no two ways about it. Ask me, the Ministry could do with a bit of new blood all around. For two Knuts I'd sack the lot and let you start over from square one. All except Mrs. Wormwood. Don't tell her I said so, but she does most of the real work around here. Dumbledore told me when he stepped down that, in his opinion, _she's_ the _real_ Minister of Magic. She'll see you don't go wrong."  
  
"Does Ron know?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes.  
  
"Not bloody likely," Arthur said with amusement. "Told him I was staying until next year. 'Bout had my head for a ruddy Quaffle, he did. Well, you can set him straight tonight, can't you?  
  
"Oh, before I forget -- "  
  
Arthur opened a drawer and dipped his hand inside, his brow wrinkling with concentration. Then his face brightened and he withdrew something and handed it to Hermione.  
  
It was a long, wedge-shaped piece of wood to which was tacked a gleaming brass plate. Hand-etched letters proclaimed:  
  


** HERMIONE WEASLEY**

  


** MINISTER OF MAGIC**

  
  
Hermione touched the engraved letters gingerly, as if she might erase them and thus undo everything.  
  
"It looks Muggle-made," she observed.  
  
"Well spotted," Arthur smiled. "Had it made up last week, same place as mine." He nodded toward the cluttered desk, at the forward edge of which sat the counterpart to Hermione's plaque. "Little souvenir shop on the Muggle side of Diagon Alley. I placed a Memory Charm on the proprietor, of course. Not strictly according to the rules, but being Minister has its advantages, eh?"  
  
Hermione sat on the edge of the desk, cradling her name plate in her hands. Her eyelids fell, and Arthur stepped away, his hand coming to rest on the window sill.  
  
"I wish..." Hermione said softly, then stopped herself.  
  
Arthur, who had been looking out the window, swiveled his eyes toward Hermione.  
  
"You wish what, luv?"  
  
She hesitated. "I was just..." Again she stopped herself.  
  
"You were thinking about Harry."  
  
Hermione nodded slowly, her half-closed eyes misting with the hint of tears.  
  
"He...he always told me I'd be Minister someday. I just laughed at him and told him to stop...to stop being silly."  
  
"Who's laughing now, eh?"  
  
Hermione looked up tentatively, as if ashamed of her words. But Arthur's smile was warm and tender.  
  
Though she had been married to his youngest son for more than twenty years, neither Arthur nor any other Weasley begrudged Hermione the memory of her first husband, the love of her youth, taken far too soon, from her and from the wizarding world.  
  
"I wish..." she said softly, her eyes distant, "...I wish Harry could see me now."  
  
Arthur, standing at the window, looked down now at the Garden of Heroes, the Ministry's most honored cemetery. He knew exactly where to look to pinpoint Harry's stone.  
  
"What makes you think he can't?"  
  
Hermione clutched her name plate to her bosom as her tears came in rivers. But the eyes behind those tears were glowing.  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:** With apologies to all the R/Hr shippers out there, Harry/Hermione is still the only "Love Boat" in _my_ ocean. Hence, the above reminder that Harry will never truly be gone, neither from Hermione's heart nor from the wizarding world.  
  
One last epilogue chapter remains before the final curtain. You are all invited to attend. And to all who stuck around this long, thanks.  
  



	16. Closing the Circle

Chapter Sixteen:  
  
Closing the Circle  
  
September 1, 2031  
  
  


***

  
  
"Firs' years over 'ere!" called a gruff voice. "Ev'ryone 'ere? Righ', then. Folla me!"  
  
Hagrid led the first-year students off the moonlit platform at Hogsmeade station and onto a descending path. Almost instantly they were wrapped in darkness, surrounded on all sides by dense trees. The only light came from the lantern Hagrid held out before him. This enabled him to see where to lead, but the students could scarcely discern any of the light, or the path it illuminated, past the bulk of Hagrid's broad back. Nevertheless, their eyes adjusted to the darkness rapidly, enabling them to see their path well enough; still, they trod with care through their unfamiliar surroundings, grateful to let Hagrid lead the way.  
  
For his part, Hagrid stepped easily and swiftly, having trod the path so often as to know it as well as the four corners of his cabin. But overconfidence proved his undoing. A vole darted across his path without warning. In his eagerness to avoid squashing the tiny creature with his enormous feet, he attempted to use his momentum to leap forward and over the animal. However, as very little about Hagrid was suited for graceful leaping, the result was that he lost his balance and fell face forward with a wheezing grunt, his impact shaking leaves from the overhead branches as his lantern thudded to the ground and went out.  
  
As Hagrid rose slowly, spitting dirt, a small, dark-haired boy appeared at his side.  
  
"Are you okay, Hagrid?"  
  
"Nuthin' teh worry 'bout, lad," Hagrid said, heaving himself up with a great whistling of breath. He placed a hand to his back, kneading the flesh with his mallet-like fist.  
  
"You _are_ hurt," the boy said with growing alarm.  
  
"Nah," Hagrid scoffed, wiping dirt from his leather breeches. "Jus' ol' age. Been thinkin' 'bout retirin' after this year. Reckin it's past time."  
  
The boy stared up at Hagrid in the darkness. It was true that there was an abundance of gray in Hagrid's once jet-black hair and beard, clearly discernable even in the lightless murk. But he was still not convinced.  
  
"You don't _look_ old enough to retire."  
  
"Oh?" returned Hagrid, combing bits of leaves out of his beard with his fingers. "An' how old d'you reckin I _am_, then?"  
  
The boy screwed up his face as he pondered the question.  
  
"Erm...fifty?"  
  
Hagrid threw back his shaggy head and laughed. The boy thought for a moment that he was being made fun of, but a quick glance at Hagrid's eyes revealed no derision, only genuine amusement.  
  
"Lad," Hagrid said, wiping away a tear with the heel of his immense hand, "I'd give me weight in wizard gold t' be fifty again! Give up? A'righ', then. I'm a hunnerd 'n two!"  
  
"You don't look it," the boy said honestly.  
  
"Well, tha's yer wizardin' blood, innit?" Hagrid picked up the fallen lantern as he spoke, seemingly unconcerned at the abscnce of light. "Wizards live powerful long lives, lots longer'n Muggles. 'Course, stric'ly speakin', I'm on'y half a wizard."  
  
"Really?" the boy said in surprise. "Which half?"  
  
Hagrid stared open-mouthed for a moment, then bellowed with renewed laughter.  
  
" 'At's a good'n, 'at is! 'Afta tell the lads at the Three Broomsticks, an' Madam Rosmerta, too! Ah, lad, yer a treasure, an' tha's a fact! I think you 'n me er gunna git 'long righ' fine!"  
  
"Can we get a move on up there?" came an annoyed drawl from somewhere in the mass of milling students. Hagrid craned his neck for a moment, then scowled.  
  
"You keep yer robes on, young Malfoy! I din' take no guff from yer dad ner gran'dad, an' I'll not take none from you!"  
  
So saying, Hagrid straightened his shoulders as best he could (still favoring his back) and set off again down the path with a sureness as if the lamp swinging in his hand were still lighted.  
  
The dark-haired boy remained at his side, jogging to match Hagrid's long, easy strides.  
  
"Who was that boy?" he asked, nodding toward the students behind them.  
  
"Dunno 'is firs' name," Hagrid said with undisguised rancor, "but 'e's a Malfoy, an' no mistakin' it. Got the same look as 'is dad. An' speakin' o' which, _you_ seem ter know _me_ righ' 'nuff. Lemme guess -- yer mum er yer dad wen' teh Hogwarts."  
  
"Both," the boy said. "My dad told me all about you. Care of Magical Creatures was his favorite class."  
  
"Tha' so?" Hagrid said, a satisfied look spreading over his face. "An' who's yer dad, then?"  
  
"Andrew McKinnon."  
  
"I rec'lect Andrew!" Hagrid said cheerfully. "Gryffindor -- class o' sixteen -- er was it seventeen? Loved all sorts o' animals, 'e did! Partic'larly fond o' hippogriffs, as I recall. How 'bout you, lad? What sort o' animals d' _you_ like?"  
  
"I dunno," the boy shrugged. "I've never seen any really interesting animals. But Dad says you'll show me creatures I've never seen or even read about!"  
  
"Tha' I will," Hagrid said. "You mark me, young McKinnon, if yer anythin' like yer dad, you'll be spendin' lots o' yer free time down a' my cabin. An' you be sure teh drop in anytime, y'hear? My door's always open t' a McKinnon."  
  
"Thanks," the boy said with a smile. "Only, if it comes to that, I'm not exactly a McKinnon. I mean, I am, but that's not my name."  
  
"No?" said Hagrid curiously. "Are yer adopted, then?"  
  
"No. My dad wanted me to have my mum's last name. To honor her dad, my granddad. I never knew him, though. He died a long time ago."  
  
"Sorry teh hear tha'," Hagrid said with unfeigned compassion. "An' who's yer mum -- I mean, what was 'er name when she was a' school?"  
  
"Jaime Potter."  
  
Hagrid stopped as if he had hit a wall -- and the students behind him thought they _had_ as they piled into his broad torso en masse.  
  
"Sorry!" Hagrid called back. As he set off again, Hagrid gave the boy a strange look as he asked, "An' what's _yer_ name, lad?" But even as he spoke, Hagrid knew there could be only one answer.  
  
"Harry. Harry Potter. After my granddad."  
  
Nothing more was said until the party reached the shore of the lake, emerging from the shadow of the trees into the brilliant light of a full moon. Hagrid instructed the students to enter the waiting boats. "No more'n four ter a boat, y'hear?" He himself lifted Harry into the nearest boat, and as he did so he got a close look at the dark-haired boy in the resplendent moonlight. Bright green eyes stared back at him, wide with a wonder Hagrid had seen before and remembered well.  
  
"Hagrid," Harry said hesitantly as the giant set him in the boat, "is it true that you saved my granddad after his parents were killed?"  
  
"Tha' I did," Hagrid said heavily, feeling a weight on his chest like a block of stone. "Tell yeh all 'bout it sometime. Now, off yeh go!"  
  
"Did you know Voldemort, too?"  
  
"Er, uh, yeh, kinda," Hagrid said uneasily. "An' don' say the name! Blimey, yer jus' like yer gran'dad!"  
  
"Am I really?" Harry said eagerly, his eyes alight.  
  
Hagrid climbed into his boat, and the small flotilla set off across the lake toward the looming spires and turrets of Hogwarts castle.  
  
"I reckin," Hagrid muttered into his beard, "maybe I'll hol' off retirin' fer, oh, 'bout seven years er so."  
  
He lifted his beetle-black eyes to the night sky, the stars blurring slightly from the tears suddenly dampening his cheeks.  
  
"I'll watch after 'im fer yeh, Harry. But if 'e's anythin' like you, 'e'll be okay. Yessir, I reckin 'e'll do jus' fine!"  
  
And the boats sailed under the arch and into the nurturing bosom of Hogwarts.  
  
  
**The End.**  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:**And so the circle closes. In the words of Gandalf (who may be a distant ancestor of Dumbledore), this story "Begins at an ending, and ends at a beginning." It just didn't seem right to leave the wizarding world without Harry Potter. Now, thanks to Jaime, Harry lives again. (He even has a Malfoy to plague him, as his granddad did. At least life at Hogwarts won't be boring.)  
  
Note to all R/Hr shippers: This is the _only_ such story I will ever write. My point has been made that I do _not_ hate Ron. In fact, many of my upcoming stories will find Ron being downright heroic. I will always portray him as a good and loyal friend to Harry and Hermione -- who, henceforth and forever after, will be a _couple_ in every story I write. Or should I say _the_ couple!  
  
Thanks to all who took the time to review, with a special note to SapphireWolf:  
  
The answer to your question is found in Chapter 9. Voldemort accuses Harry of bluffing in his boast to have killed Lucius -- and Harry does not refute that claim. For Voldy is RIGHT -- Harry _was_ too good and noble to kill an adversary in cold blood, no matter his Ministry sanction. Only when he knew he was dying did he take that last, hard road, since to leave Voldemort alive to threaten his wife and daughter was unthinkable. And without Harry to testify against him, Lucius walked free -- AGAIN! (If Barty Crouch Jr. hadn't had his soul sucked out, he would be positively LIVID!)  
  
Maybe I was too subtle on that point. Hindsight being 20-20, I _could_ as easily have used Draco as Lucius in Chapter 15. Still, it's good to know that some readers _do_ take the time to examine such details minutely. I always work to assure that no smallest detail is overlooked, and reviewers like SapphireWolf prove that the effort is justified. And if something _does_ slip by, let me know and I'll change it. After all, I don't have JK's editors to watch my backside. That's what _reviews_ are for!  
  
I hope some of you will tune in next time when the good ship Harry/Hermione resumes its journey under full sail. (Alas, the Ron/Hermione has gone the way of the Titanic. Does that make Ron Leonardo DiCaprio?)  
  
And under threat of bodily harm from Fae Princess, I promise that Harry will NEVER DIE AGAIN! Of course, some _other_ people might take the Dirt Nap in future. Only time, and my Muse, will tell. Until then, thanks for reading.  
  
**Note From Fae:** And with that, I say Goodnight. See you in Stoneheart's next posted story! REVIEW!  



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